


Happy Life Day

by helvel



Series: Fanboy Expanded Universe [5]
Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Holiday Special, M/M, Meta, minor hurt/all comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-16 02:03:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16944879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helvel/pseuds/helvel
Summary: Descend into the festive hell of Brendol Hux's annual Christmas party.





	Happy Life Day

**Author's Note:**

> Some of you may have seen this one on tumblr (RIP) when I was too ashamed to have an April date stamp on a Christmas fic. Now that it's December... have some Christmas fic! :)

“Now,  _Armitage._ ” Nils Tothwin draws out the name into far too many syllables as he peers over the edge of his wine glass. “Are you still working at the carnival?”

Hux has been asked this same question a dozen times tonight. His father’s friends ask it again and again each time they see him, waiting for a new answer. As much as Hux would rather be vaporized than go through the song and dance again, he manages an unaffected, “ _Yes._ ”

Nils makes a sound like the air being let out of a balloon. “Something else will come up soon,” he encourages. “But you can’t expect to go very far with your B.A. Perhaps it’s time to start applying to Masters programs. ” Laying a hand on Hux’s shoulder, Nils draws him in to offer a sagely piece of wisdom. “Your father has plenty of connections at the university, you know. There’s no shame in asking for his help.”

The only way that Hux can stop himself from rolling his eyes is to peer down into his empty glass.

“Oh, would you look at that. I’m out of wine,” he says, and excuses himself from the conversation.

Brendol Hux’s dinner parties are always excruciating, and his annual Christmas party is the worst of all. Professional decorators have transformed the house into a festive, glittering hell - hell being filled with all of Brendol’s friends. They’re especially bad around Christmas.  _Holiday spirit_  or some other such affliction gives them hope that Brendol’s son has returned to the nest, ready to be taken back beneath his father’s guiding wing.

Hux is going to need more to drink if he’s going to make it through the rest of the evening without screaming.

His work at the park has allowed him to perfect the art of avoiding eye contact with anyone and everyone, but he stares down at his phone for an added safeguard as he moves through the house. A slew of messages blink on the screen, sent by Ren over the past hour:

_-ive located the resistance spy_   
_-confirm next orders_   
_-general hux_   
_-the spy has been taken care of_   
_-bit of a mess sorry_

Ren is still playing that stupid game. He started it earlier in the evening when they arrived at the house. Brendol took their coats, and then Ren leaned in close to Hux’s ear. “ _I’ve received reports that a Resistance spy will be here tonight,_ ” he’d said, in that tone of voice reserved for his character Kylo Ren. “ _Keep your eyes open, General._ ”

Despite himself, Hux jumped at the distraction. “ _Secure the perimeter,_ ” he’d ordered. Ren slunk into the crowd like smoke. Yet now, after hours of dealing with his father’s friends and their opinions about his job, academic credentials, choice of drink, haircut, preferred cut of trousers, et cetera, Hux has nearly reached his limit. He has no patience left for games.

Another message from Ren blinks onto his phone:

_-return to rondayvu point at once_

Hux finds Ren in the kitchen - their rendezvous point - picking at a cheese tray that’s still half covered in plastic wrap. There’s a smear of brie at the corner of his mouth when he glances up.

“Hey,” he grunts.

“ _Move,_ ” Hux says, brushing past him to the bottle of wine on the counter. Brendol has taken out the good stuff - a small saving grace, and perhaps the only thing that’s going to keep Hux sane tonight. “Where’s the corkscrew?”

He glances around the kitchen in search of it, and realizes, quite suddenly, that Ren is wearing the flannel scraps that he calls a jacket, and his scarf. Through the kitchen window, Hux can see a taxi waiting outside.

“You’re- you’re leaving?” Hux asks.

Ren thoughtfully chews a piece of gruyere. He tucks a few more pieces into his pocket. “I took care of the spy,” he says, “No point in sticking around.”

While Hux hopes that Ren hasn’t actually killed someone, he isn’t able to keep the annoyance from his voice as he snaps a sharp, “ _Fine._ ” He’d warned Ren that the whole evening would be this bad. If Ren wants to leave him alone here, Hux isn’t going to beg him to stay.

As if sensing that one of his guests is about to escape, Brendol appears in the kitchen. His brow furrows as he looks between the two of them, with Ren dressed to leave hours before the party ends. Hux grits his teeth. He’s never going to hear the end of this.

Oddly, the lecture doesn’t come. Brendol has Hux’s coat with him, and he hands it over with a frown.

“Supper is at six o'clock tomorrow,” he says. “Don’t be late.”

Hux stands there in stunned silence while Ren drapes the coat over his shoulders. Ren shakes Brendol’s hand as they say goodnight, and then, somehow, Hux is following Ren outside into the cold night air, free.

“ _What did you say to him?_ ” Hux hisses. Did his father really just let them leave? He glances back over his shoulder, like Brendol might come to his senses at any moment and chase them down.

Ren shrugs. “I said we were leaving early because you’re tired.”

Hux can’t believe that worked. He’s certain that it wouldn’t have if Hux had said it to Brendol himself. All he can do now is scowl and say, “I’m  _not_  tired.”

“We can go back inside,” Ren offers.

“ _No._ ” Hux takes Ren by the hand to pull him into the waiting taxi.  

The car window is cool as Hux rests his forehead against it, but it does nothing for his throbbing temples. Passing lights blur in his vision. His nerves feel raw. All he wants to do is to go home, take a boiling hot shower, and then crawl into bed where Millicent will sit beside him and glare at him until he falls asleep.

Escape is only temporary, he knows. They’re expected back tomorrow. At least only his father will be there, and not a few dozen of his friends, but somehow having Ren there makes it worse. Hux glances over at Ren, slouched in the taxi seat and eating cheese from his pocket. Hux and his father have reached an understanding whenever holiday obligation brings them together, pushing through the same standard conversations. Ren’s presence changes everything. He irks them out of that mutual disinterest, making Hux think again in those moments when he’s meant to be alone.

Somehow, it’s uncomfortable having someone who  _gets_  him in a situation where he doesn’t care to be  _got._

He can’t fault Ren for that, but he’s so irritable right now. Everything annoys him. His mind is stuck in a static loop of the conversations from this evening, the same condescending expression on different faces, over and over again.

As rundown apartment buildings start looming on either side of the street, Hux can’t help but bark reminders at Ren. “Supper is at six o'clock tomorrow,” Hux says. His voice sounds so much like his father’s that it makes him even more irritable. “I’m picking you up at five.  _Be ready._ ” Hux snatches up Ren’s gloves where they’ve fallen out of his pocket and pushes them into Ren’s hands. “Don’t lose these.” Ren’s scarf is sliding off his shoulder too, and Hux yanks at it to make sure it’s properly tied.

“Are you both getting out here?” the driver asks, confused at how long the drop off is taking.

“No, we’re not.” Hux casts her an attempt at an apologetic look before turning his glare back on Ren. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Remember, five o'clock. If you make us late I’m going to-”

“Hey,” Ren says.

“ _What,_ ” Hux says.

“Come inside. I’ve got something to show you.”

Hux asks the driver to wait, but Ren pays her and sends her on her way. “I’m only staying for a few minutes,” Hux says as they go inside. The familiar creak of the stairs up to Ren’s apartment eases his nerves somewhat, but it’s not enough. He doesn’t have the mental energy to spare if Ren wants to show him some new idea for their story, or if he has some new scene he wants to work on.

A few Christmas decorations have joined the eclectic clutter of Ren’s apartment. All three of the Darth Vader cardboard cutouts are wearing Santa hats. The existing ‘nativity scene’ of Ewoks now has a legitimate baby Jesus in the middle of it. Hux has no idea what happened to the other figures of those meant to be present at the birth of Christ, and he doesn’t care to ask.

“What did you want to show me?” Hux prompts. He wants to make this as quick as possible, though he relents and lets Ren wrestle his coat off him. Ren tosses the coat into the closet pile, then hurries the few steps into the kitchen.

Light glints off the silver object that Ren proudly holds up. It’s a cookie cutter in the shape of Darth Vader’s helmet.

“Did you know that you can  _make_  cookies?” he asks. Excitement glows on his face, like he’s sharing a great secret known only to him.

Hux blinks. “Where… did you think they came from?”

“The store.” There are enough Oreo packets in Ren’s cupboards that Hux isn’t surprised that homemade cookies are new to him. “But you can just  _make_  cookies yourself, anytime you want,” Ren elaborates.

The kitchen is unusually neat, Hux notices. The only thing cluttering the counters are a few grocery bags waiting to be unpacked. Hux can see flour, sugar, chocolate chips. He realizes what Ren invited him here to do.

“Great,” Hux says. The sarcasm dripping from his voice surprises him, but he can’t help it. “Let me know how they turn out.”

Ren’s face darkens into a familiar scowl. “You don’t want to make them with me?”

Hux doesn’t have energy to deal with Ren’s childish temper right now. He doesn’t have energy to hold back his rude response. But what comes out instead of sarcastic refusal is, “ _I’m so tired,_ ” in one whoosh of breath.

Hux closes his eyes. He’s too warm. His tie is too tight. He should have never gotten out of the taxi with Ren, not when he feels like this; like a frayed cord reaching its end.

He manages a steadying breath as Ren steers him towards the couch. It’s no exaggeration - he is  _so_  tired. His head is throbbing. This is exactly what Hux meant, having Ren around at a time when he’s so clearly meant to be alone. He needs to leave, now.

There’s a  _fwip_  sound as Hux’s tie is pulled free. Hux opens one eye - and nearly laughs at the furious expression on Ren’s face. Ren is so predictable. He looks like he wants to punch something, but with no clear target of what’s pushed Hux into such a state of overwhelm, the only way he can channel that frustration is aggressive attempts to make Hux comfortable. He throttles an R2D2 pillow back into shape to shove behind Hux’s head, then bounds the few steps to the bedroom and back with his TIE fighter duvet.

“Ren-”

“Just- I’m sorry, okay?” Ren blurts. “I’ll call you a taxi. Sorry. I shouldn’t have-”

“It’s fine,” Hux says. He lets out a sigh, and takes a deep breath in. Strangely, he feels better. Ren is still fussing over him like a scowling storm cloud, seemingly attempting to cocoon Hux in the duvet. Hux wriggles enough to sit up, and move on, and pretend that lapse in composure didn’t just happen. “Have you got everything we need for the cookies?”

“No way,” Ren says, pushing him back down.

“Ren, I’m fine-”

“You get way too bossy when you’re like this. Just stay here, and I’ll make them.”

Hux does not like to be coddled, but truthfully he can’t argue with Ren’s reasoning there. He  _can_  argue, though, when he sees what Ren has turned on for him to watch.

“ _No,_ ” he groans. There isn’t enough mental stability in the galaxy for Hux to make it through watching Lumpawaroo the Wookie fuck everything up. Ren doesn’t turn off the Star Wars Holiday Special, but he does free Hux’s hand from the blanket cocoon and push a glass of eggnog into it, and that’s the next best thing.

As the assorted songs of the Holiday Special warble away, Hux blearily drifts between watching the movie and nothing at all. Ren bustles around the kitchen at the edge of his vision. He’s not a particularly adept cook. For several long moments, he pauses to squint at a battered cookbook from god knows where. Then he resumes a complicated mixing procedure that rivals Harvey Korman’s on the TV. Ren is already coated in flour, and he’s still eating cheese from his pocket. It’s disgusting. Hux continues watching him.

Hux startles awake when Ren sits down beside him, not sure when he dozed off. Ren looks absurdly pleased with himself as he offers a plate to Hux. The buttery cookies lost most of their shape while baking and now look more like Jabba the Hutts than Darth Vaders. Hux hesitantly picks one up and takes a bite. Surprisingly, it’s pretty good.

“Thanks,” Hux says, and means it. For the game at the party, and their early escape, and the cookies. For a break in the middle of all of this. He leans over on the couch, letting his shoulder press against Ren’s. “I’m sorry I’m a little…”

“… bit of an asshole?” Ren offers.

That wasn’t what Hux meant, but he’s recuperated enough that he can muster a glare at Ren. Ren grins back at him

“[Happy Life Day,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VXcb7VPw59s)” Ren says. Hux rolls his eyes, but somehow, despite everything that happened today, it is.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm now on twitter [@helvellum](https://twitter.com/helvellum)!


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